All You Know
by sascake
Summary: Gilbert wasn't quite sure how to approach Matthew Williams, or tell the Canadian how he felt about him. He decided that the anonymous, letter-writing route seemed the safest way. Prussia/Canada.


_All You Know_

* * *

God, Williams was hot.

If Gilbert shifted slightly to the left, perched on the edge of his seat, he could see the sun hit the boy's blond hair. The proximity to the light brought out the gold in the pale strands as Matthew worked through their test, Gilbert's own forgotten as he stared at him, chin resting on his palm. Whatever; he was too awesome _not _to pass it, even if half of the answers were left blank. How could he past up the opportunity to stare at the Canadian without being caught?

He'd first noticed the other boy after football practices let out. Matthew's twin, Alfred, was also on the team, and probably would kick the crap out of him if he found out Gilbert had a crush on his brother. Every day without fail Matthew would be there, almost unnoticeable in the bleachers as he worked on homework amidst their practice, waiting for Alfred to finish. The coach had yelled at him for being distracted- thank God no one had noticed his attention focused on Matthew- and he'd only ever shared a few sentences with the boy, before Alfred came storming along and interrupted them with his naturally loud nature.

_"Weather's gettin' colder." The practice had been extended unexpectedly one day, and Gilbert had changed as fast as he could to grasp a moment with the blond. Matthew had glanced at him, looking amazed at being noticed, before giving a short nod._

_"Yeah. It is."_

_"You should wear something warmer. The bleachers can get cold sometimes. Believe me, I know from experience." He'd tried to keep his voice casual, and had been rewarded with a smile that had his heart doing palpitations._

_"Thank you; I'll keep that in mind." Alfred had come along at that point, clapping his twin on the back with enough force to make Matthew wince._

_"'Sup, bro? Did you tell Dad practice was going to be later?"_

_"I couldn't get a hold of him- he's probably still at work, you know what he's like. I called Papa though; he said he'd make dinner later." This seemed to satisfy Alfred- Gilbert was unsure which part, but suspected the thought of food had the American in a good mood._

_"Great. See you, Gil." Gilbert silently waved, and Matthew glanced back just before the door closed, offering him a hesitant smile._

_The next day, the temperature was lower than before. Matthew was wearing a hoodie._

It wasn't like he could just go up to Matthew and start talking to him- usually, he would, and would probably have this all done and dusted by now instead of whining like a bitch about it. The Canadian boy may have been quiet, but he was always surrounded by his friends- Lars and Miguel seemed glued to his side. He wasn't _scared _of them (Lars seemed high most of the time, anyway) but with only one shared class, he barely had any time to see Matthew outside of French class. He rarely saw the boy, save for that one period they had together.

He didn't listen in class- hence the whole staring-at-Mattie-during-class-and-failing-nearly- all-of-the-tests thing- because who needed French when you knew German? Sadly, Matthew seemed to disagree, and pulled the best grades out of the whole class. It was almost definitely because one of his fathers was French, and Gilbert had to sadly accept that he wouldn't impress Matthew with a mutual knowledge of the language. He hadn't been counting on it to begin with, though.

With a sigh, Gilbert scrawled down his name at the top of the page, just as the bell rang for the end of class. As the teacher went around collecting the papers, shooting a resigned look at the mess of Gilbert's page, said boy caught a glimpse of Matthew packing up his things for his next class. If he was right, it was History, while his own was Algebra. He was tempted to go and talk to the blond, to start up a random conversation on the way to class- Matthew was already leaving as he stood up, talking to his cousin Michelle as he went. Gilbert sighed deeply, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his own way out of the room.

He was far too awesome to be stuck in an awkward situation like this.

Gilbert didn't like to say he was _stalking _him, but straining his hearing and trying to listen in to Matthew's various conversations at lunch appeared to be such to Roderich. His cousin was glaring at him, food forgotten as he addressed him, cutting off Elizabeta mid-rant.

"Just talk to him. Eavesdropping on him is, frankly, quite disturbing; sorry, dear, do go on," he added, seeing Elizabeta's raised eyebrows.

"Shut up, Roddy." Gilbert waved him off, earning a huff from the Austrian. "Like you'd have the balls to do it, if it were you. Anyway, this is helpful."

"Helpful _how, _exactly? With a future career of stalking him?"

"I can start a conversation with him about hockey, for example," Gilbert said loftily, smug at Roderich's irritation. "He practices down at the rink- did you know he's on the local ice hockey team? I didn't either, before I _eavesdropped _on him. He loves polar bears and wants to be a marine biologist, his favourite food is his papa's crepes, and he's going to Europe for summer vacation. Four days in London, four days in Paris, and six days in the south of France," he relayed proudly. "How's that for useful?"

"Pretty pathetic, if you ask me," Roderich said, crushing all of his hopes with his cool superiority. "That's, what, four or five things you know about him? If you like someone, you actually have to go and _talk _to them first, not just listen in on their conversations."

"And you know from experience?" Gilbert scowled, already annoyed at his cousin after only eleven minutes in his company.

"Well, I'd like to hope so, seeing how my girlfriend is sitting beside me." It was at this point Elizabeta decided to intervene, ignoring Roderich in favour of addressing Gilbert earnestly.

"If you're going to be awkward about talking to him face-to-face, why don't you leave notes in his locker? You don't need to sign them or anything- just send him a few, and see how well he takes it, and then confess that it was you. Work up to it slowly; he can't turn you down when he finds out what a nice guy you can be. What have you got to lose, Gil?" The German boy was silent for a moment, considering her words, then looked up at Roderich with arched eyebrows.

"You know she's too good for you, right?"

The conversation switched to their plans for the weekend after Elizabeta laughed at Roderich's furious expression.

The next day, Gilbert dropped the first note into Matthew's locker, after glancing up and down the corridors to make sure no one was around. He'd spent hours last night trying to work out what to write down until Ludwig mercifully intervened- his brother was surprisingly talented at coming up with what to say, probably because of Feliciano's influence. He'd forced Gilbert to bin the note that said '_Nice ass, wanna hook up?' _in favour of one that said _'You're beautiful when you're focused'. _It didn't make much sense to Gilbert himself, but Feliciano- who'd shown up later that night- insisted that it was perfect. It was only later that Gilbert found out that the Italian himself had written it, but Ludwig had punched him when he'd laughed at him.

Though he wasn't around to see Matthew find it himself, Elizabeta, whose locker was opposite his, had. She insisted that the Canadian seemed pleased, if embarrassed, and that his reaction was a good sign- Elizabeta was a girl, and weren't girls supposed to be good at the whole romance thing? She didn't seem pleased when he pointed this out to her, but grudgingly agreed to help him write the next one.

Four days later, '_You know, you've got my heart' _was slid through the grates of Matthew's locker. Elizabeta and Feliciano both thought it was wonderful, but Gilbert remained dubious. Did Matthew _like _cheesy things like that? His doubts vanished when the Canadian boy took the note itself from his pocket and examined it during French class, a shy smile playing around his lips as he reread it for a full ten minutes.

Gilbert would have died happily on the spot, except that he wasn't finished yet. And Matthew didn't know it was him, obviously. At least he _liked_ being left anonymous notes, and had probably kept it quiet from Alfred. If his twin had known, it surely would have been yelled about when they were changing for football practice, and Alfred's protective instincts would have gone into overdrive. For the moment Gilbert remained silent, content in the knowledge that, so far, his plan was working.

"He was talking about your cards to Miguel in Biology," Roderich said dryly, causing Gilbert to jerk his head up and stare dumbly at him. "Before you ask, he doesn't know it's you. Well, either that, or he's not telling his friends his suspicions- he changed the subject quite quickly when Miguel asked. But he's pleased that someone's sending them to him, even if they are, in his words, 'kind of cheesy'."

Gilbert's response was grabbing Roderich's head and pressing a kiss to his forehead, ignoring his fury and Elizabeta's shrieks of laughter.

The third- and what he planned to be the final- note was left the next week. It only said _'Je t'aime', _thanks to Elizabeta hunting through a French dictionary for the phrase. He hoped it wasn't too drastic, telling Matthew that he actually _loved _him, but he swallowed his unexpected fears and left the note before sprinting off. The next time they had class, he'd pull Matthew aside at the end and speak to him. He'd confess it was him, and _then-_

He'd never actually gotten that far. All going well, Matthew would be pleased with the sudden reveal.

Of course, fate never seemed to go Gilbert's way. At practice later that afternoon- where, he noticed with delight, Matthew was waiting in the bleachers- things had began well. Then he'd found himself on his back, staring up at the sky, with his team mates surrounding him and a steady trail of blood seeping from his nose. Dropping his concentration for a moment had, apparently, caused him to take a decent hit to the face.

"You're going to have a black eye in the morning, Beilschmidt," his coach said bleakly, pulling him to his feet. Gilbert staggered, blood droplets soaking his shirt, and blinked the confusion from his eyes. "Come on, off you go. That's practice over for you- you need to get that nose seen to-"

"I'll do it, Coach," a quiet voice said, new hands gripping Gilbert's shoulders. The voice was vaguely familiar, and he frowned, trying to focus on it as he was gently tugged from the pitch. He went with the new arrival, occasionally stumbling thanks to his foggy mind, until he was pushed back in a chair inside the gym. Moments later, the figure returned and pulled off his helmet, and Gilbert was finally able to see Matthew Williams kneeling before him, sponge in one hand and a sympathetic look on his face.

"Are you all right?" Struck dumb with amazement, Gilbert could only nod, and Matthew pressed ahead in his quiet voice. "You took quite a hit- I saw it from the bleachers. Is it only your nose? Does anything else hurt?" Gilbert shook his head silently, and the Canadian began to dab gently at the blood congealing over his face. "That's good, I guess. I mean, your nose looks pretty painful, but I don't think it's broken. You're lucky- Alfred broke his nose last year, and he had to go to the hospital and everything."

"I remember. He bragged about it for weeks after," the German managed, and Matthew gave a soft laugh. "It's fine. I broke both my arms when I was a kid, so I know what broken bones feel like. Ever happened to you?"

Matthew frowned slightly, thinking as he continued to clean the mess that was Gilbert's face. "My wrist, when I was seven. Our Papa took Alfred to a baseball game, so Dad took me ice skating." He paused for a moment, then tried to hold back a laugh. "I was fine, but he crashed into me. I fell on my wrist, and bam: broken. Dad freaked out and apologised for about a week afterwards. I don't think Papa ever forgave him for it." Gilbert found himself snorting with laughing at Matthew's confession, further soaking his shirt in blood. The Canadian tutted at the mess, adding, "It wasn't _that _funny."

"Yeah. It was." They lapsed into silence, and Matthew left briefly to find him an ice pack. When they were sitting quietly together, an ice pack pressed to Gilbert's face, he spoke up suddenly.

"I know you've been sending me the notes." At this, the German boy nearly fell out of his chair with horror at Matthew's tone. The blond hastened to continue, almost apologetically. "No, no, it's fine- don't move, you're going to hurt yourself more!"

"How did you find out?" Gilbert managed, voice weak. Matthew shrugged, a blush flaring across his face.

"Remember when we had to mark each other's tests in class, a few months back? I recognised your handwriting. And Michelle saw you once- she saw you putting in the third note, I think." He paused, then added, "I've noticed you staring at me in class, too. I wasn't sure why you were, so I didn't mention it before the notes. You're not exactly subtle, Gilbert." When the German boy glanced up, wary of what he would see, Matthew was wearing a tentative smile.

"Oh. I thought I was pretty good with doing it secretly." Matthew laughed, and Gilbert grinned, pressing ahead. "It was Elizabeta's idea. I didn't know what to say to you, so she suggested anonymous notes. It seemed like a good plan, so I just went with it. I was worried some of them were corny, though."

"They were. Sorry- they were nice, though." As Gilbert fidgeted in his chair, Matthew spoke again, slower this time. "I'm free on Mondays, Thursdays and the weekends."

"What?" The German blinked at him, almost unable to believe his luck, and Matthew smiled shyly at him.

"Tuesdays I have a study class, Wednesdays, I help Al with Geometry, and Fridays are hockey practice. I'm free if you want to go out any other time, though." He waited patiently, passing the sponge between his hands, as Gilbert's smile grew into a full-blown grin.

"We-ell, I have to check my schedule. My awesomeness is usually in demand, but I guess I can make an exception for you..."

"Let me know if you can fit me in anywhere, will you?"

Matthew's fingers lacing with his own, alongside his sweet smile, convinced Gilbert that yes, he _definitely _would be able to make time for the Canadian.

* * *

**This was a oneshot for StringOfFate that snowballed into something a lot bigger. So big, in fact, that it was practically a fanfiction in itself, and I decided to publish it. My first and probably last time writing PruCan, but I was itching to get back to normality by writing the Frying Pangle, and I needed something happy and cute to take a break from the depression of writing _Hummingbird_. Maybe I'll write more Prussia/Canada in the future, depending on the response for this. I hope you enjoyed it! :)**

**-sascake**


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